


Stitches

by PierintheSky



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Divergent, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mention of Amelia/Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 07:59:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/771892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PierintheSky/pseuds/PierintheSky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean hated having Cas do it more than the ex-angel hated doing it himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stitches

**Author's Note:**

> **Beta:** [Lana](http://deanwinchestercomplex.tumblr.com/)  
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own Supernatural or any of the actors that portray said characters.

Dean's muscles jerked underneath Castiel's slender fingers as the angel--turned man--pushed the sharp needle through his hunter's skin as gently as possible. This was Dean's least favorite part of hunting, ever since Sammy went back to live his normal life with Amelia; back to the one he had had before Dean came back from Purgatory and fucked it up once again. Dean would be lying if he said he wasn't a little pissed off at his brother for leaving him for some girl, stuck with a then-angel whose new mission in life was to become a hunter. What the hell was up with that anyway? Yeah, Dean was slightly happy when Cas had told him that he wanted to become one, but at the same time he couldn't bear to watch his Angel go down the same path that Dean had. He couldn't think about watching him slowly turn into the Cas he met when the other dickheads sent him to the future; the Cas hiding in booze, drugs and orgies. So, yeah, Dean was pissed at his brother.

The hunter turned his head slightly, watching Castiel's brow furrow in concentration as he stitched up Dean's wound. Dean hated having Cas do this. The first time Dean had needed stitching up after Cas had lost his mojo Cas had wanted him to go to a hospital. He hadn't wanted to cause Dean anymore pain and while it was true that Cas knew a lot, he didn't know how to stitch up a gushing wound without making it worse. Dean had told him to stop being a baby--something he really needed to learn not to do--and shoved some whiskey, towels, a needle and thread in his arms, sat on the bed, and waited for Cas to begin.

Cas' tongue darted out, licking his lips before taking a place at the corner of his mouth. Dean had been such a dick to him for those first six months without Sammy, had barely even spoken to him. It wasn't until after Dean started noticing that the angel's powers were slowly dwindling--two months after it actually started happening--that he pulled his head out of his ass. How did he seriously not notice the angel flying in and out on his own accord? It was after a case just like any other basic ghost problem. Castiel had been pushed back by the son of a bitch so hard he cracked the drywall when he landed on—in—the wall, but Dean figured his mojo would help him; he wasn't actually in any real danger. It wasn't until after Dean finally burnt the damn necklace, tossing it into the sink and drenching it in salt, that he realized Cas wasn't behind him, right up his ass like he usually was.

Dean had reeled around, eyes darting around the kitchen for Cas and finding him lying slumped over on the ground, body curled in on itself. Dean rushed over to him, shaking him, begging him to wake up. "Why the hell isn't your mojo working, Cas?" And that's when he had felt the warm liquid on his hands from the back of Cas' head and the real panic started to set in. He quickly set into action, picking up his unconscious . . . whatever Cas was to him--they never really talked about it after they got out of Purgatory, Dean had never really wanted to--and carried him back to the Impala, careful to not knock his head anymore than it already had as he set him in the backseat. Dean quickly got into the front seat, not really caring if he was speeding; he dared some backwash city po-po to pull him over.

Time seemed to pass slower than it actually was; it was taking too long to get back to the motel. He needed to hurry. He punched down on the gas, cars honking at him as he blew through a red light. The tires of the Impala screeched to a halt as he slammed on the brakes in front of their motel room, throwing and pulling the car doors as he got Cas out. He didn't have enough time to think about what people might see if they were driving by or looking out of a window. All Dean cared about was Cas and why the fuck wasn't he healing? Dean kicked the door shut, rushing over to the bed to place Cas on it before running into the bathroom for a washcloth then back into the main room, rummaging through his bags for supplies.

Dean had stood up, turning back to face the bed and stopping in his tracks for a moment. He had never seen Cas like this. He'd seen him asleep once, back when the Apocalypse was still afoot, but this was different. He looked broken down, tired, on the verge of never waking up again. For a moment he forgot how to breathe before inhaling a gulp of air and going to work on Cas.

He flinched out of his reverie as Cas tugged on the string, muttering a hasty sorry without taking his eyes off of his task. Cas had been fine, obviously, he wouldn't be sitting here stitching him up if he hadn't. But it had scared the shit out of Dean. After that, he stopped being such an ass. It wasn't Cas' fault anyway.

“Done.” Cas sighed, leaning back on the bed. Cas didn't like fixing Dean's broken bits when it made him hurt, and neither did Dean. Not when the spooked look stayed in Cas’ eyes for the next three days and he wouldn't let Dean out of his sight. Maybe one of these times he'll go to a hospital instead of asking Cas. But then again, he kind of doubted it.

“Thanks.” He had no idea why they were talking so quietly, barely whispers between them, stretching in the stale air of the cheap motel room. Cas was still looking at the string he wove into Dean's skin, and Dean knew that he wouldn't stop looking at them until after he took them out. Dean tugged on Cas' wrist, pulling him. He got the picture, crawling towards Dean so he could straddle his hips. Dean scooted further back on the bed so Cas wasn't hanging off before letting his hands fall on the ex-angel's hips. “I'm fine,” he breathed, breath ghosting over Cas' face. Cas let his head fall, forehead touching Dean's, before nodding.


End file.
